Bring Me To Life
by Avluela
Summary: Harry died. But his part in destiny was not yet complete, and Death has a plan to send him back. How will Harry cope with being trapped in a different body... forever? H/D (Slash... Sort of)


Bring Me To Life

By Avluela

Author's Notes: This contains slash… Sort of. You'll just have to read and see. This is a H/D, so don't read if that squicks you. Death is my own character, or at least, this personification is. I own nothing else… Now chant with me people: Review! Review! Review!

Chapter One: A Scythe For Cutting Roses

It was dark. Which was strange, really, because it had been light only a minute ago. He was sure of that. Harry felt uneasy, and there was a strange chill in his skin. He stood still, silently waiting for whatever could possibly happen. 

"Harry Potter."

He jumped in shock, and turned to the source of the voice. Behind him stood a girl. She was not particularly beautiful, and her eyes were sharp and hawkish. A scythe hung carelessly in her right hand. Harry eyed the weapon warily. 

Where the hell was he? Who was this girl?

"I did not expect to see you for at least another hundred years. This is not acceptable." The girl was frowning. "You must go back."

"Well, where am I then?" He said, cautiously. It wouldn't be a good idea to anger this girl. Somehow, he knew that.

"You are here, Harry Potter. In a place where nothing lives and nothing dies. A place, which no man remembers, but he knows of, just as he knows of good and evil, love and hate. You are in a place that is neither heaven nor hell, yet both at once." Her voice was filled with an old and terrible wisdom. Harry shivered.

"Who are you?" He whispered.

"Is it not clear?" She smiled, the blade of her scythe luminous in the murky light. "I am Death, Harry Potter. And you are no more. Perhaps the name 'Boy-Who-Died' would be more appropriate now." 

There was a terrible feeling building within his chest. Fear, panic, disbelief – he wasn't sure. 

"How?" He choked out. "What - "

"Voldemort, of course. Who else would dare to kill you?" She sounded calm. Uncaring. "Don't you remember?"

***

/////The Dursley's were already dead. He felt guilty, knowing that in some way he may have been able to protect them. But how was he to know that Voldemort would attack them in the middle of a muggle high street? He certainly hadn't. Neither, obviously, had Dumbledore.

People were screaming. The Death Eaters were certainly having fun. They made him sick. Bastards.

Voldemort was coming towards him. Harry didn't try to run. He had no wand, no means of protection. He was going to die…

"Avada Kedavra."

There was a flash of green light and…

…Darkness./////

***

The memory flashed through his mind for one moment, and then, suddenly, it was gone. He shook it away.

"No." Harry said. "I don't remember."

Death pursed her lips. "You must go back, Harry Potter. Your part in destiny is not yet complete."

She approached him, her footsteps quick and light. One hand reached up and came to rest against his scar. Her touch was icy.

"You will have to be hidden," she murmured. "You cannot return to your own body. It is dead now, and no longer… habitable. I will arrange another form for you. There are many whose bodies hang between life and death, their souls long since departed. I will find you a suitable shell." 

She had not moved her hand. The coldness was spreading from her fingertips, deep into his skin. Harry wanted to move away, but he could not. He was frozen the spot. Immovable.

Death's eyes glazed over for one moment. She whispered something unintelligible, and smiled.

"Yes. I have the perfect body for you. No one will suspect that." 

The cold had numbed his mind, clouded his senses. He was… floating…

"Goodbye, Harry Potter. It is time for you to go back."

The ice engulfed him, and Harry knew no more.

***

Mrs Rosen sat stooped over her daughter's hospital bed. It was nearly dawn, and the faint light of morning seeped gently into the room. Her face, once bright and carefree, was creased with lines of stress and fatigue. She clutched her daughter's hand desperately in her own.

"Lucy," she whispered, "wake up Lucy…"

 Two weeks. It had been two whole weeks since she'd found out that her husband was dead – killed in a car crash. Her daughter had lived, but she was no better off. Lucy Rosen had fallen into a coma. She wasn't expected to live. 

"I miss you, sweetie. You know that, don't you? Your friends came to see your yesterday. They left you some cards. Wasn't that nice of them?"

Lucy did not respond. The sunlight filtered across her wan features, a harsh illumination on an expressionless mask. She was so sickly now, so weak. It broke her mother's heart to see her like this.

"I love you Lucy. Please come back…" 

A single tear trickled down Mrs Rosen's face. She hid her head within her hands.

Mrs Rosen did not see the curling of Lucy's left hand, or the slight flutter of her eyelids. She did not know that in a few hours her daughter would wake up, changed for life. She merely cried, and mourned the passing of happiness. 


End file.
